Before he
could recover, I was safe out of the corner where he had me trapped, with all
the deck to dodge about. Just forward of the main-mast I stopped, drew a pistol
from my pocket, took a cool aim, though he had already turned and was once more
coming directly after me, and drew the trigger. The hammer fell, but there
followed neither flash nor sound; the priming was useless with sea-water. I
cursed myself for my neglect. Why had not I, long before, reprimed and reloaded
my only weapons? Then I should not have been as now, a mere fleeing sheep
before this butcher.
( . . . )
I was
drinking in his words and smiling away, as conceited as a cock upon a wall,
when, all in a breath, back went his right hand over his shoulder. Something
sang like an arrow through the air; I felt a blow and then a sharp pang, and
there I was pinned by the shoulder to the mast. In the horrid pain and surprise
of the moment—I scarce can say it was by my own volition, and I am sure it was
without a conscious aim— both my pistols went off, and both escaped out of my
hands. They did not fall alone; with a choked cry, the coxswain loosed his
grasp upon the shrouds and plunged head first into the water.
A deep
silence filled the classroom at first; then we all burst into cheers — and so,
another afternoon went by on 1965, forever ours, treasured and lost.
